


Errant

by AlchemyAlice



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Comment Fic, Dreams, M/M, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-10
Updated: 2010-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlchemyAlice/pseuds/AlchemyAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the ingeniously meta errant comment prompt at inception_kink:</p><p><i>er·rant (rnt)<br/>adj.<br/>1. Roving, especially in search of adventure: knights errant.<br/>2. Straying from the proper course or standards: errant youngsters.<br/>3.<br/>a. Wandering outside the established limits: errant lambs.<br/>b. Aimless or irregular in motion: an errant afternoon breeze.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Errant

He shouldn't be here. This is wrong. 

The first thing he does is sets down the gun. It's out of place and draws attention, though from what he sees there is no one here to notice.

No one except...him. 

"You've learned to wander. That goes well beyond the usual parameters, I hear."

The sand lurches, just slightly. Enough to force Cobb to bend one leg in order to stay upright. The beach is bright on his eyes, reflective with bits of pale green sea glass. 

The mahogany bed frame shifts even less, its legs on the left side effortlessly lengthening, like slender trees.

"No defenses for you to get past in these parts."

Robert Fischer's voice is oddly soothing, discordant and soft like a de-tuned piano. Its register wavers. 

Ivory keys litter the ground.

Cobb swallows, and says, "This isn't you."

"If you hadn't noticed, I've changed since we met last. As have you, or I imagine you wouldn't be here." For the first time, he turns from the surf, from the water that washes black against the shore. He is wearing his usual immaculate suit, but the cuffs are singed, the cuff links lost to the waves. His tie remains straight and smooth.

"They told me what happened after you broke up the company," Cobb says simply. "I thought I should come."

Robert shoves a hand in his pocket. The hem of his pants is slowly turning black. "Without an architect," he says.

"Without an architect," Cobb agrees. He looks out at the black sea. "I don't really need one in these parts. An architect would be redundant when there are borders already built."

"And what do you hope to accomplish here?" 

Robert is closer now, cuffs picking up sand instead of viscous black. There are linen bed sheets over the mahogany, whiter even than the sand. 

"You ought to come back out," Cobb says slowly, never taking his eyes off of the slim suited figure, tight and bowlike by the canopy bed. "The one who talks for you now isn't right."

Another lurch, accompanied by thunder. Not a cloud in the sky.

"And whose fault is that?" Robert says, and the bitterness tastes just like Cobb remembers. It's easier to answer here, though. Easier when it's not his basement level.

"It's mine."

Two steps, and the thunder roars. Robert's hair smells like expense and clean sweat. 

"Playing the white knight for real this time, then?" he inquires, and his breath plays quiet tricks on Cobb's face. 

"I take it that  _that_ ," Cobb nods very slightly to the darkened sea, "Is your black king, now?"

Robert doesn't answer, just presses closer. Cobb lets him. When he turns his head, there are memories on the sand, built shoddily in rusted sheet metal and concrete. Memories of a hotel bathroom, and a gun a younger Robert presses to his temple. 

Soft hands that take it away.

"Should I do it here?" Robert says. The gun is still on the bed, here, now. "Will I wake up?"

Cobb shakes his head. "You'd kill the only part of you worth saving."

Robert's eyes are clear and steady here. Not like out there. So Cobb doesn't stop him when he leans forward and breathes him in, lips soft against his jaw. He turns into the kiss, and lets it linger. 

The sand erodes away, grows unsteady beneath their feet. Cobb realizes his hand is curled around the butter-soft leather of Robert's belt. 

Robert looks at him, all quiet angles and loneliness, and says, "Tell me how to wake up."


End file.
